Rankin Christmas

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      Twas the night before Christmas. That's right folks -today is Christmas Eve and tomorrow is that magical day of peace, joy, Jesus, presents, cookies, and for some... fruitcake. I bet ya'll cannot wait! I know I can't.
      This year, the Christmas Season has been a bit of a whirlwind. Up until about a week ago, it did not even feel like Christmas time. The weather is always warm and sunny in Los Angeles, making it hard to get into the snuggly snow spirit. Finals took up 110% of my life, so there was no time to do serious Christmas shopping, or bake cookies, or look at lights on houses. I'm sure I'm not the only one who struggled to get in the Christmas frame of mind this year.
      But despite the difficulties, I (and I am sure most people) still have the yearly traditions that coincide with Christmas. For me, one of the biggest traditions is watching each and every Christmas movie that I love. Everyone has their favorites -for many it is the classic "A Christmas Story" which plays on repeat on TBS Christmas day. For others, "National Lampoons Christmas Vacation" or "It's a Wonderful Life." I know in my household, "Elf" and "Fred Clause" are among the top picks for favorites. But for me, it will always be the classic Rankin/Bass stop-motion animations. I am sure you have *at least* heard of them:

•  Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
• A Year Without a Santa Claus
• Santa Claus is Comin' to Town
• Frosty the Snowman
• The Little Drummer Boy
• Jack Frost
• Rudolph's Shiny New Year
• Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey...

...and many other seasonal and holiday favorites. Some of those, like "Nestor," are often forgotten. But I will not forget. I could never. Those movies are a part of me, ingrained in my notion of Christmas. First comes the birth of Jesus, then comes these movies.
      It should come as no surprise that we own most of these on DVD, but every year it gets a little harder to watch them. Time, disinterest, growing up...they all make sitting down and watching these 30-60 min programs more and more difficult each year. It used to be easy -back in the day, TV channels like ABC, ABC Family, etc. used to play them frequently for our viewing pleasure. But now with Hallmark Christmas movies and updated animation technology, these movies have gotten tossed adrift to the Island of Misfit Movies. If it were up to me, the Rankin/Bass Christmas movies should RANK at the foremost of *Everyone's* movie To-Do list. But my soul is an old one, and kids these days don't really "get it."
      Though these movies rank high on my Christmas priority list, I guess the important thing is what they really mean to me. I don't watch them every year out of duty. I watch them because of the joyful memories and sentiments they bring me. I can easily recall laughter and family sing-alongs as soon as my eyes spot the opening scenes from these movies. So many family anecdotes stem from the quotes and lyrics from these movies. So many ornaments on the Christmas tree are replicas of our favorite characters. I don't think I can remember a time without these movies in my life. That is why they are important. And I guessssss as long as everyone experiences something similar when they watch their favorite Christmas movies, then however these animations rank on your list is A-OK with me....
     
      So a Merry Christmas to all. And to all, a Good Night.
                      
                                                                  Sincerely,
                                                                            Me
     

Quite a While

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      Um, hello. It has been a few.....centuries.....since I last posted; or at least a month and a half. I have been excruciatingly busy with "end of the semester" work, but my first semester of graduate school is officially over and I will have some free time for fun things -yay!
      Unfortunately, at the present moment, I do not have a bundle of time to sit and write down all of my spectacular and innovative thoughts and feelings about life right now. So, instead of doing that, I will leave you with a poem by T.S. Eliot called "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock." I read and wrote a kick-ass paper on this poem my sophomore year of college, and it has stuck with me since. The fourth stanza (or the third major stanza) is my favorite. It is talking about how there will be time to do all sorts of things "before the taking of a toast and tea." Now that I will have a few weeks break, I will hopefully have time to do all sorts of things before the start of the spring semester. So, here is the poem--- enjoy, folks!!
 
                                                                   Sincerely,
                                                                            Me

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats         5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question….         10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit.   In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.   The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,         15 The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,         20 And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.   And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window panes;         25 There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate;         30 Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.   In the room the women come and go         35 Talking of Michelangelo.   And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—         40 (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) Do I dare         45 Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.   For I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,         50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room.   So how should I presume?   And I have known the eyes already, known them all—         55 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?         60   And how should I presume?   And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) Is it perfume from a dress         65 That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.   And should I then presume?   And how should I begin? .      .      .      .      .      .      .      . Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets         70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…   I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. .      .      .      .      .      .      .      . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!         75 Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep … tired … or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?         80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,         85 And in short, I was afraid.   And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while,         90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—         95 If one, settling a pillow by her head,   Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;   That is not it, at all.”   And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while,         100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:         105 Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say:   “That is not it at all,   That is not what I meant, at all.” .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .         110 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use,         115 Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool.   I grow old … I grow old …         120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.   Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.   I do not think that they will sing to me.         125   I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black.   We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown         130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Um...October?

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      I cannot believe that there are only 10 days left of October. Where the heck did the time go???
      The semester is half-way over, I've written my first papers, there is basically no difference in temperature whatsoever, and Christmas decorations are pervading every dollar store near you. Cray.
      I do not think I've written a "bookish" post in a while (or at least I can't remember if I have), so let's make this one here a bookish one, shall we?
      **Quick side-note** I am all about the one-two sentence paragraphs right now, so just bear with me!


      Ok so basically school reading has taken over my life. For a while I was doing pretty good  with maintaining personal reading alongside my assigned reading, but that lasted for about September. My book of choice was "The Light and the Dark" by Mikhail Shishkin. If you think that name sounds Russian, you are correct and can award yourself if a cookie. Pretty much the only reason I picked it up was because it sounded Russian AND because it is a fictitious compilation of love letters written between two separated lovers. The sentimentality of it got to me, and when I finished the book, I was a wee bit sad. If you are looking for something a little different and sentimental, I highly recommend this book.
      Well, that ^^ certainly was not a one-sentence paragraph. Huzzah!
       Since that book, though, I have not had time to pick up another "for fun-ner." Granted, I have enjoyed the assigned reading enough to not let it get to me. So far we have read a lot of Flannery O'Connor, Poe, Cormac McCarthy, Literary Theory, Teaching Theory, etc. Currently, we are reading "The Black Dahlia," which is kinda creepy since it took place in Los Angeles...hmm...
      Next, we are onto "Frankenstein" which I think is highly appropriate considering Halloween is just a hop and a skip away. And it is rather embarrassing because "Frankenstein" is one of those books which people always assume I have read... but I have not. Oops! Guess there is no time like the present!
      Hmm what else, what else...?
      I really want to do a dramatic reading of Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw" while it is still October. I don't know if I'll have time, but I guess if it is important enough to me, I will make the time!
      I really wish I had something incredibly profound and intellectual to talk about right now, but my brain is basically the equivalent of fried chicken.
      So that is all. I will try to write more often, as I always say. Maybe when I have something more interesting to say, I will be more inclined to say it.


                                                                        Sincerely,
                                                                                  Me

Waving a White Flag?

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      During a recent rendezvous at a bar, a dear friend and I started up the most animated conversation with a couple sitting adjacent to us.  After a lively round of small-talk pleasantries and cocktail crackups, there was a brief moment when the conversation turned to the lifelong debacle of wearing White After Labor Day (I capitalize because, honestly, who *hasn't* made it a legitimate topic of interest).
      This would not be my first time in the ring when it comes to fashion-to-fashion combat over white. I remember sophomore year of college when there was an unfortunate incident with someone who felt the need to correct my October attire.


                                         --- "Um, excuse me.... you *do* know it's after Labor Day, don't you?
                                             Because you really aren't supposed to be wearing white pants..."


First of all, who does that? I was on the way to my morning tea and so did not need those "words of wisdom" instead. Second, while I appreciate the knight-errant defense against the antiquated fashion sense of ye olden days, I think sources should be checked before gallivanting around town, criticizing an individual's sense of style.
      I realize that the incident I speak of is almost three years old (when did I get so old?!?), but apparently the topic is still relevant since it came up in recent, post college conversation. And though my response at the time was a polite "thank you for your concern," it pestered me for quite some time.
      When it comes to White After Labor Day, I believe that it is perfectly acceptable to don those white jeans well into winter. If you do not take my credibility seriously, here is a little article for you from the Huffington Post published not even a week ago -- White Pants --. When it comes to fashion, runways dictate. Some people follow the mandated regulations religiously in order to avoid a disastrous fashion faux pas. Others dress to the beat of their own drum, ignoring VOGUE's latest trends and red carpet spottings. For me, I try to stand en media res, and use what is in my closest to suit the needs of the day/mood. Somehow, wearing White After Labor Day has fallen into that category with me, defying glares and snotty girls who think they work on "What Not to Wear."
      So, if you still do not believe me that it is perfectly acceptable, even preferable to wear White After Labor Day, go to a Pinterest near you and look it up yourself. I am 100% positive that you will find the cutest outfits featuring a major piece of white clothing. But whatever you decide, just remember.... Fashions fade, Style is eternal. I will never wave the white flag of defeat nor give up my crusade against this cruel rule against a staple item of clothing, and I hope to never again be affronted by those who cannot dress themselves outside of the box... No offense to anyone, of course :)
                                                                     
                                                                       Sincerely,
                                                                                 Me

Pane

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      Let me tell you a little something about my bedroom window.
      Compared to the grandiose windows I had at both college and home, my City of Angeles bedroom window pales in comparison. It doesn't quite measure up, if you catch my drift. And outside this window is a view unlike any other. Apparently it is a big deal around here, but having looked out of this window for a week and a half now, I have come up with a few opinions of my own.
      My bedroom window looks over a golf course. Now, I will not tell you which course (in case any of you fine readers just so happen to double as creepy stalkers), but know that it is a fully-functional, all day/every day course. Every morning, I wake up earlier than I would like since I have yet to invest in curtains, and I take a look outside of my window. And every single day, no matter what time of day, I see the exact same thing. Golfers.
      There is a hole closest to my view of the course, and without fail, I see men in a myriad of polo shirts and crew cut socks making their way to this hole, standing around the hole, and moving past it towards the next. It matters not whether the time be seven in the morning or seven in the evening--- the golfers never fail to show up. It is a wonder to me, really, that there are always players out there. Weekday? Yes. Weekend? Obviously. Who knew so many golf enthusiasts lived around this area?
      Do not judge me, I beg of you. I have absolutely nothing against golf/golfers/golf courses. Hell Heck, I cheered on Bubba Watson during his acceptances of the Master's green jacket. I choked up in sentimentality as he shed tears in gratitude and awe. I have even become a recent fan of Rory McIlroy (although who wouldn't think the Irish athlete isn't a dream?). But in my years of watching Dad watch golf, I have learned a few things. First, don't watch if you are tired. The soothing claps and monotonous headlining is sure to put even the most enthused fan to snores. Second, the bad players get no air time. No explanation needed.
      So you are probably wondering how I dare to criticize my golf course view in Los Angeles. Well, it is simple. There is no change in the view. And there probably will not be for most of the year. Every time I look out the window it is the same scene. There are always golfers. Always clubs and carts. And since I highly doubt that they will be closing eventually for a deep winter chill, I have a feeling that I will be seeing the same merry-go-round movie for quite some time. I know I have no room to complain, but sometimes it just feels so monotonous. And I know that the palm trees won't change color come fall, and the three-year drought will have no dire effect on the greenness of the grass. But I wonder, will the golfers keep coming? Or will there come a day when everyone has gorged themselves enough on the sport and retire their clubs for a time?
      I guess I will just have to keep looking out my windowpane every day to get my answer.

                                                                             Sincerely,
                                                                                        Me

New Life

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      I have lived in Los Angeles, California for six days now. SIX. I basically have my room all set up and cozy; although, it is a bit erratic. Lot's of color. Lot's of pictures. Lot's of shoes/clothes. Basically, lot's of me.
      Today marks one week until classes start, and one week until my new life as a graduate student begins. It is remarkable to me how I can go from being a student to a student, and yet it feels so different this time around. Sure, the terms "undergraduate" and "graduate" make a big difference, but there is something about the general vibe this time that feels different. There is a shift in responsibility, independence, work load, and dedication. I am making a most intentional choice to pursue my love of English Literature. It's more that choosing a major--- it's choosing a life for myself.
      And it is more than just school. Now, being in California, I am forced to start fresh. New city, new people, new routine. Remember in THIS POST when I quoted The Grapes of Wrath at the end? Well, here is a little secret---- I hadn't actually read The Grapes of Wrath when I used the quote. Shameful, really, but I promise that since then I have read, finished, and thoroughly enjoyed reading that book. But let me clarify a few things...

1.)  The entire story is about the great migration of mid-west families and individuals to the "promised land" of California. I myself just made the great migration to California via car. I packed little blue all the way to the brim (and then some) and drove across the county in the ultimate road trip.
2.) The featured family, the Joads, believed that California would provide them with a chance to start over. A chance to finally have a nice house, a steady job. They dreamed and discussed the multifaceted possibilities which California would bring them. I dreamed a dream of the Californian possibilities myself.
3.) California proved a disappointment. I won't say much more on their end, for I hate to ruin an ending, but just know...I desperately wish that my similarity to the Joad family does meet the same end as theirs.
                 ***  I DID love this book though. I encourage everyone to read it. Granted, my love for it might not have been as exuberant if I had read it at any point in my life other than right before moving to California, but nonetheless, I think Steinbeck's writing is beautiful and the imagery is unsurpassable ***

     This blog post probably seems a bit all over the place, and it probably is. But I guess it is a good reflection of how life is now for me. A little all over the place. I am finally getting settled, and soon enough I will be even closer to being a Master of English. How snobby does that sound? But in all seriousness, I hope more than anything that this new life does not create a new me. I am rather fond of me, and wouldn't want to lose myself in the Hollywood Hills.

                                                                  Sincerely,
                                                                            Me

The Tourist

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      For my birthday weekend, I traveled into the fabulous city of New York. The land of "Friends" and "Sex and the City." The Concrete Jungle that Alicia Keys and Jay-Z sing of. The place where Audrey had her breakfast at Tiffany's. I could go on and on and on, but there is just *too* much that New York is credited for. My dear friend came up from Raleigh, and together, we roamed the streets of one of the largest and most powerful cities in the world. And let me just tell you all, it was perfection.

      Now, I am not going to tell you all about my trip because typed words cannot begin to express the magic we experienced during out 2.5 days there. So, instead, I'll tell you all about how I felt being a "tourist" in New York City.

      So here's the thing--- I live just an hours train ride away from Penn Station, NY. That's it. Just an hour. During our visit, we didn't stay in some hotel, but rather, the apartment of my friend's cousin. We neither wore tennis shoes nor carried around extravagant folded maps of the city. We even took the plunge and rode the Subway everywhere like "normal" people. And yet... we were still tourists. We didn't belong. Neither of us live there, work there, or travel into the city on a regular basis. Sure, we had both been there before and seen the sights, but it's not like we were pros. I found myself wishing otherwise.

      I am one of those travelers who likes to try and blend in/pretend I belong/I don't want to be groupied with the really obnoxious tourists who stand and take a million pictures that you just happen to walk thru because you have a real life. Even when I traveled to Israel in 2009, I didn't want to stand out with my pale PALE skin and my ever-so American accent. In New York, I found myself wanting to be mistaken for a New Yorker.

      But there are moments when one cannot help BUT be a tourist. For example--- I took a lot of skyline pictures. I took a picture of the building corner of the TV show "Friends" in Greenwich Village. And best of all, I had my friend take a picture of me drinking a birthday brunch mimosa at Café Lalo. Now, I haven't made a good "You've Got Mail" reference lately, but this was the epitome of them all. Café Lalo is where Meg Ryan anxiously awaits her anonymous email-lover Tom Hanks. She sits and waits for him with Pride and Prejudice and a red rose. He brings along his friend to check out his hot date first. And alas, they meet (though she doesn't even know!) and Café Lalo was seated in the halls of cinematic restaurants for forever. Or at least to me. It was the one place I was sure I wanted to go to the whole weekend and it was so wonderful that I just had to take pictures. And even though I wanted the other diners there to think I was just one of them on the Upper West Side enjoying brunch, I set my shame aside for some #selfies. I was a goofy 22 year old tourist who loves "You've Got Mail" probably more than most.

      Now it may seem silly to some of you that I hate being a "tourist," but maybe you can understand. I mean there are so many great movies and TV shows where the characters just seem to become one with the land/people in which they are visiting. And though New York isn't a foreign country, it may as well be to some people. But hey, the best part was when some random lady on the streets asked *US* for directions. I guess we blended in better than I hoped.

                                                                     Sincerely,

                                                                                Me

P.S. I really wish I was a fancy blogger who knew how to do cooler things with my pictures other than COPY and PASTE. Oh well.

Ye Olden Days

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      It is already the end of June. On Sunday (the 29th), I will turn *twenty-two* years old. In two months from today, I will start my career as a graduate student in Los Angeles. Where has the time gone?

      As I prepare for all of these changes, I've had to start going through all the crap stuff in my bedroom. I mean, let's be real...I wish I could take every single thing that I own to California...but I cannot. So here's where my point is --- I came across my high school yearbooks and I wondered, keep or toss? I feel like high school yearbooks are one of those cliché adult items to wistfully flip through with your kids and wistfully reminisce on the good ole days while your kids make fun of your bad hair, bad braces, and overall bad style. But when I think of those kind of moments, I always picture yearbooks from the 70s, 80s, and even 90s. I picture the big hair, the big glasses, and all of the ridiculous love notes written between the pages from the end of the year romances and BFF "have a good summer, xoxo" signatures. But I don't have one of those yearbooks.

      I went to a Catholic, all-girls high school. And I graduated in 2010. Our children may laugh at our hairstyles, but personally, I don't think there is anything unusual about them. We all look extraordinarily normal. And we are in uniforms so there is no mocking our generational fashion choices. I didn't even have braces to fondly cringe at. I have no "Omg Have a good summer" or "Bobby loves Suzy" handwritten notes in the front and back because, well, we just didn't do that. In fact, we didn't get our yearbooks until the FALL of the following year.

      Sooo....what is so sentimental about these books down memory lane? These *iconic columns* of our past? When I have kids, am I really going to whip out these old things and share with my kids the black and white photos of private-school days past? I don't think so. But, at the same time, what if that day DOES come and I have nothing to share because I threw them away? What if I run into that woman in the grocery store who's name I cannot remember and I don't have my yearbooks to go back to and figure it out? But what if I ship an extra 5 pounds (these books are heavy!!) to California for absolutely nothing.

      As you all could probably tell, I am a HUGE advocate for paper books. There is something to wonderful about holding a book and flipping through the pages rather than swiping your finger on a tablet. I'm not sure I feel the same about these particular books. I mean, if I want to remember  what people looked like in high school, I could just go on Facebook. If I want to remember what I looked like in high school, I need to just close my eyes and picture it. I mean, I looked at myself everyday in the mirror during those years. I don't think I need to go back and keep looking.

      So what do you all think I should do? Are these captured moments of the past worth my time?

                                                                            Sincerely,

                                                                                    Me
P.S.....Yes, I did arrange and have a photo shoot on my floor with my yearbooks...and yes, I used a filter.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Dear Whoever You Might Be,                                        “There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.”  

                    ---Shel Silverstein

      Last Monday, I stayed with a dear friend in Front Royal, Virginia. Though teeny-tiny by most "city" standards, Front Royal offered a hidden treasure. A few days prior to my arrival, an epic rain storm flooded the Susquehanna River, which runs about 20 min outside of town. My friend wanted to show me the affects of this rain storm. The result? The picture above. From where I am standing, the road stops and the flooding water begins. Apparently, there is a teeny-tiny bridge near this teeny-tiny town which goes over the river. It sits mere inches above the water line, and when the river rises, the bridge disappears. The road just stops.

      I couldn't even see bits of the bridge; all I saw was the sunset over a rushing river. My friend and I parked our car (the road was blocked so we had to leave the car and limbo under the blockade), and walked the rest of the way down to the river. It was so quiet and so peaceful and I could have stayed there for a very long time. Since it was sunset, all we heard was the water and the crickets. The wind was blowing the leaves, and it was most surreal. I haven't felt so calm, and so peaceful in quite some time.

      I took a few pictures (and obviously some #selfies), but it was one of those moments in life where a camera and a flash do no justice to the picture-perfect view.  I do not consider myself an "outdoorsy" person, but how could anyone not appreciate such a spectacle of nature?

                                                                               Sincerely,

                                                                                       Me

   

California Girls

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      Remember when I promised that you would be the last to know my future plans? Well, I am upholding that promise and I am here to tell you my plans. I've already told my friends and family and Facebook....and since you probably fall under one of those categories, I apologize for the redundancy. But here it is:
      I have been accepted into the M.A. English Graduate Program at Loyola Marymount University for the Fall 2014. This school is in Los Angeles. I was also interviewed for and awarded a prestigious fellowship. I have accepted my acceptance and, at the end of summer, I will be headed West.
      I do not think that I have quite wrapped my brain around the reality of my future yet. For the past few months, "California" has been a dream, an idea, an intangible concept floating around with all the other things I was applying to. I have lived on the East Coast my entire life. Though, I have been to California before, I was nine years old and don't remember too much of it. Now, I am planning on spending at least the next to years of my life there. It's kinda terrifying and exhilarating.
      I cannot help but ask myself the most important questions involved in moving to California.... Will I be the palest person in the whole state? Is my fashion sense too "city" and not enough "beachy"? Do I need to watch reruns  of The Hills so I can become BFF's with Lauren Conrad when I get there? I should be worrying about things such as cost of living, classes, roommates, U-Haul's, etc. But like I said, the reality part has not yet kicked in. It is a dream come true to be accepted to this school and to be moving to California and I couldn't be more thrilled. Somehow, I need to realize that this is no longer a dream come true, but a plan that I need to start preparing for. **Insert stomach butterflies here**
      In The Grapes of Wrath, my dear friend John Steinbeck wrote, "Why don't you go on west to California? There's work there, and it never gets cold. Why, you can reach out anywhere and pick an orange. Why, there's always some kind of crop to work in. Why don't you go there?”   Though I won't be working in crops, I look forward to the work, the oranges, and (Most Importantly) the never getting cold part. I think the best way to prep for California is to read more Steinbeck and listen all the millions of songs about California on repeat.
      California....Here I come!


                                                                    Sincerely,
                                                                             Me
     

March Musings

Dear Whoever You Might Be,
      I cannot think of anything worthwhile to write about these days so I will just give little update-y snippets of life these days. And by life I mean the things I have been reading. Supes exciting, right?
      So I finished reading  A Clash of Kings aka the second book in the Game of Thrones series. After a whopping 969 pages of intensity and page-turning madness and heart-racing anticipation, I was able to restore it on its rightful place on my ever organized bookshelves. I desperately want to know what happens in the next one, but unfortunately I have already spent my budgeted book money for the month of March. *Le Sigh*
      After A Clash of Kings I needed something short. Real short. My brain rejected the idea of another massive read right away. So, what did I pick up? John Steinbeck's The Red Pony. Some of you may think it strange that I have never read this before (especially not in middle or high school), but I have not. I figure it was about time to read it since it's been sitting there collecting dust for decades. And though I have always claimed to loathe American literature, I wanted to give Steiny's tiny book a chance. I mean, I *did* write me senior thesis on his "big" book... I have to say though, it is a rather depressing story and I am not quite sure where the value lies. Maybe I'll just keep reading Steinbeck and eventually figure it out.
      The Red Pony was read in all of 2.5 seconds, so naturally I needed something a little lighthearted to come next. I wanted to read one of the thirty thousand classics I have on my shelves and just haven't read yet. I decided on one of Jane Austen's works, but oh! Which one? I bashfully admit that up until a few days ago I had only read Pride and Prejudice even though I own all of her works...oops. I was trying to decide between Persuasion and Northanger Abbey because those are the shortest and I still required something of minimal length. I quickly settled on Northanger and praise the Lord that I did because I *loved* it. LOVED. I laughed so much. It has such a different tone than P&P and I discovered that Northanger was actually written before the others. It was so witty and clever and sentimental, and honestly, relatable. If you have ever seen "The Jane Austen Book Club" movie, you know that no one wants to read Northanger Abbey and so it is passed off to the Jane Austen virgin and only male member of the group. After reading it, I cannot understand why no one wanted it and why it does not get more praise. I know I haven't referenced "You've Got Mail" in centuries, but just as Kathleen Kelly's sentimental heart beats wildly whenever Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy end up together, my heart did the same in Northanger.
      I finished Northanger Abbey last night before bed and now I am gazing upon the multitude of unread books I have crying out to me on my shelves and wondering which of them I will deign to pull out and place on my bed-side table. Should I read another classic? If so -Russian, English, French? Should I read something short or long? Sentimental or historical? Or maybe, contemporary or recently purchased? So many books, so little time. Such a problem to have, I know.


                                                                          Sincerely,
                                                                                   Me

Summer Child

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      Since it is in my habit to write about the books I am reading, I shall do you all the great honor of keeping within my habitual boundaries. I mean...no one likes change, right?
      So here is the deal. Right before Christmas, I was suggested a series of books by a dear friend of mine. I had heard of these books before, but never read them. With a leap of faith and trust in this person's judgment and enthusiasm over the books, I decided "why not." I always appreciate it when people take my book suggestions seriously, so shouldn't I grant the same courtesy to someone else? Especiallllly since this person's enthusiasm could *almost* match my love for all things Dostoevsky?
      Well, ladies and gentlefolk. I am here to tell you that these books are in fact the Game of Thrones series. Now it may not come as such a shock for those of you who remember my confession of loving Twilight that I would dare to read "fan fiction." But for those of you who were veiled under the pretense of me reading only high literature by the fireside with my pinky in the air whilst clasping a cup of Earl Grey... I am sorry to dash such a vision into the abyss. The truth is this --I picked up Game of Thrones in Barnes&Noble because someone told me to. I went back for the second book, Clash of Kings, because I *wanted* to.
      The books are so freaking huge that I needed a mini break between the first and second books; in which time I read Train Dreams and Watership Down (which I mentioned in This Post) . But I am glad that they are so freaking huge. Why? Because they are so freaking good! I never EVER thought that I would actually like these books. I figured I would give them a chance, and thank goodness I did. A small part of me just likes being able to say that yes I have read them, so yes I can understand why people are so obsessed...although, let's be honest... most of these people are just obsessed with the show. I haven't even seen the show yet. I am holding out so my minds-eye isn't tainted by actors and actresses when reading about the characters.
      For those of who familiar with Games of Thrones, you will recognize the title of this post as something associated with the story line. If I were writing this in the fall, I might have chosen something even less subtle like "Winter is coming." But I used "summer child" because when I picked up these books, I was a summer child in my bias against reading this "fan fiction." I was a summer child because I had no idea what I was to expect. I was naïve of what I was diving into. Being a "child of the summer" references those who have had no exposure to the harshness of the world, the cruelty, the sadness. It refers to a sort of blindness of the things to come. I was often a snob when it came to the books I allowed on my precious shelves. And though I am literally a "summer child" because I was born in June, I hope that when it comes to what to expect from books in the future, I do not allow myself to be so naïve. I expected Games of Thrones to be ridiculous and predictable; easy and quickly tossed aside. Little did I know what I was getting myself into. They are good. Really good. And I advise those of you who decide to read them -make sure you give yourself plenty of free time. You'll not only need it, but you'll want it.


                                                                     Sincerely,
                                                                              Me

Brr, It's Chilly

Dear Whoever You Might Be,
      Are you surviving the Snowpocalypse of 2014? I am... Although, I wish it weren't even around to have to survive? I know everyone is all "OMG no school, no work!!! Yayy!" but from me to you, I am done with all the snow. Finished. Over it. The funny thing is, I never thought I would say that.   
      I have always considered myself a "winter" person. I used to dream of these kind of snow storms. Living in Maryland growing up, we usually had mildish winters with the occasional big storm once every few years. And even though we never really got exponential amounts of snow (unlike this year), I found is amusing when I went to college in North Carolina and was surrounded by a slew of people who had never even seen snow, or had only seen flurries. Now, as a resident of New Jersey, my lifelong friendship with snow is turning sour. It is beautiful at first, and if there was no need to shovel or leave the house or walk the dog, I think the snow and I would still be on good terms. But there is a need to shovel, and leave the house, and walk the dog. The east coast has seen a ridiculous amount of snow this winter season, and I am just ready for spring.
    I would say that once winter is over I will miss the boots and scarves and jackets. But let's be honest people -you cannot wear cute leather boots in the snow. You only wear the scarves to wrap around your face and end up looking like you belong as a Bollywood dancer. And unless you are rocking a designer label snow coat, we all just end up looking like bundled summa wrestlers with all the layering. I am not a snob when it comes to bundling, but it gets a bit redundant having to wrap and unwrap the thirty thousand items of clothing needed to keep warm and dry in such weather.
      I just finished reading Watership Down by Richard Adams and reading it made me ready for springtime even more. It was about rabbits and reading the descriptions of thy breeze blowing through the warm grass on the hillside and running through a field of flowers just made me long to see the trees blossoming and the sun staying out past 5pm. I think that if we had a bunny instead of a groundhog predicting the weather then it would be spring sooner than six more weeks....
      There is really not much more to say about all this than I already did because basically everyone everywhere is talking about the snow. I think it is probably trending more right now than the Olympics.
                                                                        Sincerely,
                                                                                 Me